


In eyes not yet created

by Thelonelycoast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, WIP, and no one has had a baby in 18 years, and so is the world, the one in which they are all messed up, when against all odds harry styles gets pregnant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelonelycoast/pseuds/Thelonelycoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It shouldn’t even be possible, is the thing. But then, people told Harry getting on Xfactor was impossible, that having a number one album was impossible, that breaking into the US market was impossible and Harry (well, the band really) did all of those things and more. Harry’s learned that when someone says something is impossible, they just mean very, very unlikely and Harry Styles has had a very unlikely life.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Harry gets pregnant in a world where no one gets pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Dystopian AU based on Alfonso Cuarón's [Children of Men](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Men).
> 
> Title lyric is from "Poet" by Bastille.
> 
> Written for Mpreg Month.
> 
> As always, I'm [everythingwaslarry](http://www.everythingwaslarry.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Comments and kudos are the best! x

**In eyes not yet created**

_Psalm 139:16_

_“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”_

**December 2013**

Harry would have liked to chalk it all up to coincidence - he and Louis walking into the same loo on the same day at the same time - but it wasn’t the first time it had happened. And likely, it wouldn’t be the last. There were too many coincidences like that with Louis - too many unplanned meetings and near-encounters - to be explained away by mere chance. After a while, it became a pattern, something that was beyond their control. Like magnets - despite their best (or _worst_ ) efforts to stay apart - they inevitably came snapping back together, each time with more force than the last. But knowing it was fate didn’t make it hurt less - if anything, it made it hurt _more_.

It was a thing with them, running into each other in loos. They’d first met in one at the X-Factor auditions three years ago. Louis had stumbled into Harry at the urinals and Harry had turned and accidentally weed a bit on Louis’ shoe.

“Oops,” Harry had blurted, immediately blushing when he looked up and saw the fit bloke whose shoe he’d just christened.

“Hi,” Louis smirked, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. “Louis.”

Harry had looked down and realized he had both hands on his cock and had settled for nudging Louis’ shoulder with his face, like a cat. “‘M Harry.” They both burst out laughing.

And that was that. Destiny in action. Except it wasn’t. Because, years later, here they were again, standing in front of each other like strangers. Louis’ hair had grown out, brushing his shoulders, and a scrim of facial hair softened his normally sharp jaw-line. He was wearing clothes Harry had never seen and despite looking tired and a bit pouchy around the eyes, he was as lovely as ever - maybe _more_ lovely - because Harry had missed him, _oh God_ , had he missed him. He cut himself a little slack for the tiny, broken sound that escaped him, echoing over-loud in the confined space.

“Hi,” Louis said softly, expression defeated when he met Harry’s eyes in the mirror over the sink, where he was rinsing his hands. He opened his mouth to say something else, something Harry never heard because he was spinning Louis around and pinning his hips to the sink, capturing his mouth in a crushing kiss. There was nothing gentle about it - it was like Harry was trying to suffocate him with his mouth - and maybe he was a little bit. He had never hated and loved anyone so much at the same time. He wanted to destroy Louis. He wanted to be destroyed.

Harry crowded Louis’ backwards into the disabled stall, never disconnecting their mouths for a second, while Louis’ fingers scrabbled for purchase along Harry’s back. Harry all but shoved him into the stall, kicking the door shut behind them. Buttons flew off Louis’ shirt when Harry wrenched it open impatiently and they laughed breathlessly before Louis hungrily attacked Harry’s mouth again, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. They separated just long enough for Harry to yank his skinny jeans to his knees and bend over the wheelchair railing, arse in the air.

“Don’t make me beg,” Harry said, his voice coming out shaky and strange and not commanding as he had wanted it to.

“Harry are you sure...? I haven’t got-”

“Fuck, just put it in,” Harry grunted. Louis spat into his hand, shoving a dry finger unceremoniously into Harry.

Their coupling was quick and frantic, like they were trying to smother a fire between the press of their bodies. The only sound in the stall was their labored panting and the wet, slick sounds of sex. Sweat rolled down Harry’s spine and Louis licked it off, tongue sliding tantalizingly over each vertabrae and ending up sucking a bruise into the back of Harry’s neck. Harry came humiliatingly quick - without even touching himself - spraying his load over the tile wall with a labored grunt.

Louis followed suit not long after, digging his fingers into Harry’s hipbones so hard there would be finger-shaped bruises for days after.

They quietly redressed in their clothes, not meeting each other’s eyes or acknowledging what had happened. It had been like a hurricane tearing through them and now that it had passed - there was nothing to say - nothing left but the wreckage of what they’d once been. Harry was grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Louis’ shirt was torn and Harry’s pants were wet when he tugged them back up.

**May 2014 - 4 months**

Harry let his heavy head fall against the toilet seat with a wooden-sounding thunk, groaning aloud as pain spiked through his already-throbbing skull. He kept his body rigidly still, letting the next wave of nausea roll over him. The chill of the tile through his thin jogging bottoms and the ceramic against his cheek felt indecently good and for a moment, he seriously contemplated just sitting on the loo floor all day. It would save him time walking back and forth to his room at any rate. But then Nick was pounding his fist on the closed door, sending jarring reverberations through Harry’s cheekbone where it was pressed against the toilet.

“Coming, coming,” Harry moaned, staggering to his feet and mopping futilely at the sick in his hair with his balled up shirt as he went.

“You look like shite,” Nick said, raising a cooly assessing eyebrow at Harry when the door swung open.

“Morning to you too,” Harry mumbled miserably.

Nick shouldered past, unzipping his flies before Harry had mustered the energy to move from the doorway. The stream of Nick’s urine hitting the water was overloud in Harry’s head, the sour metallic scent making his stomach twist unpleasantly. Why did everything _smell_ so much lately? Like, more than the usual amount? Harry could scent a drop of bacon grease from a mile away and even the _memory_ of the bucket of Nandos chicken Nick had eaten for lunch the prior day made Harry gag.

“Late night?” Nick smirked.

Harry grunted, not dignifying the question with a response before shuffling back towards his room. The shades were all drawn, the outlines of his furniture like slumbering animals in a shadowy burrow. It smelled faintly of sweat and the duck down in his duvet, overlaid with the musk of his cologne. Harry flopped onto the bed on his stomach with a weary sigh. It used to smell like Louis - their scents so intermingled Harry couldn’t pick them apart. Sometimes, Harry wondered if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d found and lost the love of his life so young, leaving him nothing to look forward to. Some days - the _worst_ days - he wished they’d never met at all.

The thing was, Harry _hadn’t_ had a late night. He’d fallen asleep on the couch watching late night telly with his hand still in an open bag of Salt and Vinegar crisps (a decision he’d regretted as they’d burned back up his trachea that morning). He’d never been a big drinker, hadn’t had more than a glass of wine with dinner in ages. For one, he wasn’t allowed out past curfew and it wasn’t as if he had any mates anymore either. The ones who hadn’t deserted him, he’d pushed away for their own good. He was a sinking ship. He’d just drag them down when he went under.

With great effort, Harry lifted his head to glare at his alarm clock. Two more hours until he had to be at work. _Right. He could do this. Just get in another hour of rest and -_

Harry leaned over and vomited into his trash can.

***

Everyone was watching the news on the overhead screens when Louis arrived at his usual coffee shop. He was already running late for work but Louis hated his job and caffeine was non-negotiable as far as he was concerned. He pushed his way through the crowd to get to the counter, head pounding in time with each step. His mouth tasted like stale corn chips and death and he was regretting every shot of Jameson he’d ever drank in his tiny, miserable existence. It didn’t really matter how much he drank anyway; he’d never quite get rid of the taste of Harry.

With a grunt, Louis slapped a handful of change onto the linoleum countertop without bothering to count it. “Medium coffee. Black.”

Louis had traded in tea a year ago - he couldn’t stand the thought of Harry shuffling round their kitchen in just his socks and pants in the morning as he boiled water for Louis’ tea - couldn’t stand the thought that Harry was now doing it without him, or _worse_ , with someone else. Possibly even _Nick Grimshaw_. Even just thinking his name sent a wave of poorly-concealed anger through Louis.

It was eerily silent in the coffee shop. Other than the hiss of the industrial brewers and the whurr of the espresso machines, the only other sounds were coming from the television. Curious, Louis turned his attention to the nearest monitor, squinting his eyes at the brightness.

_“The world was stunned today by the death of Diego Ricardo, the youngest person on the planet. Baby Diego was stabbed outside a bar in Buenos Aires after refusing to sign an autograph. Witnesses at the scene say that Diego spat in the face of a fan who asked for an autograph. He was killed in the ensuing brawl. The fan was later beaten to death by the angry crowd._

_Born in 1995, the son of Marcello and Sylvia Ricardo, a working-class couple from Mendoza, he struggled all his life with the celebrity status thrust upon him as the world's youngest person. Diego Ricardo, the youngest person on the planet was 18 years, 4 months, 20 days, 16 hours and 8 minutes old.” 1_

Maudlin music played over the news piece as the barista slid Louis his coffee, tears in her eyes, of all things. Louis nodded curtly. He didn’t feel anything. As a rule, he tried not to. Wallowing in it wouldn’t change anything. Protesting was the surest way to get yourself killed. And joining up with those terrorist nutters would only change things for the worse. It was best to keep your head down, to drink yourself into a state of perpetual numbness as your life circled away down the drain. It worked for him anyway.

The intermittent patter of rain on Louis’ face and exposed hands only served to heighten his irritation, but the cold air at least alleviated some of his hangover.

He paused for a minute by the rubbish bins to pour a nip from his flask into his coffee cup and that’s when the bomb went off, the coffee shop he’d just vacated spraying hunks of smoking steel and concrete rubble out into the street. Louis ducked down as a cloud of chalky dust billowed out over the sidewalk, cloaking everything in white. He could just barely make out the screams over the ringing in his ears.

***

It shouldn’t even be _possible_ , is the thing. But then, people told Harry getting on Xfactor was impossible, that having a number one album was impossible, that breaking into the US market was impossible and Harry (well, the _band_ really) did all of those things and more. Harry’s learned that when someone says something is impossible, they just mean very, very unlikely and Harry Styles has had a very unlikely life.

That said, it’s been eighteen years since the last baby on the planet was born. At nineteen, Harry was one of the last. _Generation Z_ , they called them. The last generation. Harry hasn’t seen a baby since he was one himself. Which is a shame because he really _likes_ kids. Or he _thinks_ he does. He remembers liking the ones he grew up with at any rate, but that all seems so long ago now. A different life. Now all he has are the pictures - the scrapbook tucked away under his threadbare mattress - bursting at the seams with clippings from magazines and pages ripped out of books. Babies, toddlers, chubby cheeked infants with fingernails and teeth the size of seed pearls. All his life, they’d filled Harry with dual parts longing and crushing disappointment at the thought that he'd never have any of his own.

Harry started the scrapbook when he was thirteen years old, when he was beginning to have all these confusing, troubling visions of having his own children one day, despite the fact that he was a boy, and a boy that liked _boys_ at that. Despite the fact that no one had had children in more than a decade.

It was just as well. The world was no place for children anymore. It was a hostile, volatile place. A place where everyone had given up hope. After the collapse of the African and East European societies, there was a major influx of refugees to the UK, the last nation with a functioning government, and now they were all living on top of each other. London was a military police state and it was crowded and filthy - teeming with crooked politicians and rogue terrorist sects - certainly no place for a child. There was a bombing just that morning on the tube, the line Harry normally took to work. He’d stayed home because he’d been throwing up again.

He’d been throwing up a lot lately because against science and logic, against all odds, Harry Styles was pregnant.

***

It had been a year since Zayn had seen any of his band-mates. Put in perspective, a year was nothing; they seemed to go faster the older you got, but that year had been a long and miserable one. A year without his four best mates. Zayn had never felt more alone in his life.

The band’s rise to fame had been atmospheric - stadium tours and chart-topping singles - a level of success none of them could have foreseen or expected; that would likely never be duplicated. The human race was going extinct and it had no room for boy bands anymore.

Two years later after it had started, it all came crashing down. Terrorist attacks were happening more frequently, food was being rationed, wars were being waged, the gays were being herded up like animals headed for slaughter. There were a lot of angry people, people who had no use for empty, upbeat pop lyrics about love. Which was just as well - after Liam - the words had started to feel pretty empty in Zayn’s mouth too.

Zayn spat a gob of fluorescent looking blood onto the concrete floor as his blindfold was lifted. He was sitting in the center of a tiny cement cell, the walls overrun with graffiti, a single bare bulb hanging from a wire providing the only illumination. Judging from the chill coming off the brick, he was somewhere far underground.

And there, standing in front of him, as if no time had passed at all, was Niall. He looked different now - more like the man in the Wanted posters plastered around the city than the happy-go-lucky boy he’d been when Zayn knew him. Save for a wing of bleach-blond hair spilling over into his eyes, his brown hair shorn was close to his skull. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt and black skinny jeans, a green khaki cargo jacket hanging loose and unbuttoned. There was a red banana tied around his upper arm and letters tattooed on each of his knuckles. Zayn could just barely make out the letters if he squinted through his swollen eye.

**S I N K         S W I M**

Despite the outward changes, Niall still _smelled_ the same - that musky, masculine scent - like suede and walnuts, like he’d been riding in the saddle too long.

“Well, this is cozy,” Zayn smirked, the small movement hurting his bruised face.

“Jaysus, Mary and Joseph,” Niall swore, stomping his combat boot. He cupped Zayn’s cheek in one rough, calloused palm, smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone, the gentleness at odds with his rough exterior.

“Y’awlright mate?” he asked, in his familiar husky Irish drawl. There was a scar through his eyebrow that hadn’t been there before and his arms were more muscled than they’d been. He filled out his shirt in a way that had Zayn’s cock fattening up down the leg of his trousers, despite the fact that he was tied to a chair - or maybe in part _because_ of. He’d always been a kinky bastard.

Zayn looked Niall straight in the eye and said, in a voice that belied how scared he actually was, “tangerine.” He felt a dull twist of satisfaction in his stomach at the resulting blush on Niall’s face.

***

Harry wasn’t sure at first. It was unheard of, and in this world, unprecedented. He was a guy. The fertility rate had been at a steady zero percent for nearly two decades. He’d only had sex once in the past year. The odds were just - well, _Seabiscuit_ odds - to be honest. If Harry were a betting man, even he wouldn’t put money on it.

In the beginning, the symptoms were ambiguous enough to be mistaken as something else. He was tired all the time, but then, he was on his feet for eight hours shifts at the bakery, so that was nothing new. His back hurt, but he’d always had rubbish posture and he’d figured it was just catching up to him as he got older. It was a bit odd that his nipples were so swollen and tender - I mean, they’d always been _sensitive_ but - he’d never popped a boner just from the friction of his t-shirt against his chest quite so much. He also felt nauseous a lot in the morning, but he thought he might just be getting run down or sick.

It wasn’t any one thing that tipped him off so much as _all_ the things together.

It occurred to him late one night when there was nothing on TV and he was lying in bed, paging through his scrapbook, unable to sleep. He passed over a crumpled, water-stained pamphlet that listed, nearly _identically,_ all the symptoms he’d been having. Even then, it was hard to swallow. And it wasn’t as if Harry could go out and buy a pregnancy test. They didn’t even _sell_ them anymore, for one.

But now, five months after he’d had sex with Louis in a handicapped toilet in Waterloo Station, he was getting noticeably rounder, despite not changing his eating habits much and the reality was beginning to set in.

Jay was the first one he called. Despite the fact that he and Louis were no longer _he and Louis_ , Jay was still like a second mother to him. Or well, a _first_ mother now that his own mum was gone, killed along with Robin in a train derailment orchestrated by the Fishes. Jay had been a midwife once upon a time, before Harry was born. Before babies stopped being born.

“Harry?” Jay could hardly conceal her surprise over the phone. “This is an unexpected treat. Is everything - is everything all right, love?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he quickly reassured her, chewing nervously at a ragged cuticle on his thumb. Times were uncertain and it wasn’t unheard of to get a random phone call from his sister about some classmate or other that had been killed.

“I saw about the bombing on the news and I thought - you sure you’re okay?”

Harry sighed, raking a hand back through his dark, disheveled curls. He hadn’t eaten anything all day but a piece of toast and his stomach growled as he paced the floorboards by the window. “This is going to sound crazy - I don’t - I don’t even really believe it myself -”

“Just start from the beginning, poppet,” Jay said softly. Harry rubbed a hand over the budding curve of his tummy, as he was prone to do these days. It was oddly comforting. Most of the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was a special effort not to do it in public, hiding his changing body in his baggiest jumpers, blaming his exhaustion and inattentiveness on lack of sleep.

“Jay, I think I might be - I think I might be pregnant,” Harry whispered, the words catching in his throat a fish hook, tugging at the nausea in his chest. It was the first time anyone had said those words in eighteen years and the importance of the moment didn’t escape him.

There was a clatter on the other end of the line and Harry waited a beat for Jay to pick the phone back up. “Sorry, I think I heard wrong - it sounded like you said you were pregnant.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It shouldn’t even be possible, is the thing. But then, people told Harry getting on Xfactor was impossible, that having a number one album was impossible, that breaking into the US market was impossible and Harry (well, the band really) did all of those things and more. Harry’s learned that when someone says something is impossible, they just mean very, very unlikely and Harry Styles has had a very unlikely life._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Or, the one where Harry gets pregnant in a world where no one gets pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Dystopian AU based on Alfonso Cuarón's [Children of Men](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Men).
> 
> Title lyric is from "Poet" by Bastille.
> 
> Written for Mpreg Month.
> 
> As always, I'm [everythingwaslarry](http://www.everythingwaslarry.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

**In eyes not yet created**

_Psalm 139:16_

_“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”_

 

**May 2014 (cont)**

“What’s all this then?” Zayn asked, rubbing at his raw wrists. “Couldn’t use a phone like a normal person?”

“This was the only way,” Niall said softly, the apology unspoken. “For the record I didn’t know it was _you_ we were kidnapping. Just that it was someone who might be able to help.”

Niall had untied Zayn’s wrists and offered him a bottle of water, but Zayn hadn’t forgotten being unceremoniously shoved into the boot of a van, nor the sound kicking he’d received when he’d tried to escape.

“I’m not harboring any criminals, Niall,” Zayn said coolly, taking a sip of his water and delighting in the way Niall’s eyes followed the bobbing line of his Adam’s apple. _He still fucking had it_. Even as roughed up as he probably looked right now.

“I’m not asking you to,” Niall said, unconsciously stroking the scar over his eyebrow. Zayn wondered how he’d gotten it. He knew about the others - the ones they’d given each other - the bite-marks and finger-nail crescents that had faded to pale, circular shadows, like the mark’s on the surface of the moon. “I - I need your help.”

“I’m not helping any feckin fishes, mate.”

“You know, all that shite you see on the news isn’t true,” Niall said, eyes narrowing. “We weren’t responsible for any of those bombings. At least...not the civilian ones anyway.”

“But you still kill people, yeah?” Zayn asked.

“Only the ones that deserve it.” Zayn scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh come on, what would you know about it? Up there shuffling papers in your safe little office every day while our boys are risking their live on the streets.”

“And for what?” Zayn blurted out. “What’s the point of it all?”

Niall shook his head. “You’ve got to have something to believe in mate, else you’ll die.”

“Gonna die anyway,” Zayn shrugged.

“You know, you used to believe in stuff once too.”

“Yeah. _Us_ , Niall. I used to believe in _us_ ,” Zayn bit, taking pleasure in the way Niall winced away from him. “Did you bring me here to lecture me on my life-style or did you just have to fulfill your quota of beatings for the day?”

Niall grabbed Zayn’s jaw in his hand and for a split second, Zayn thought Niall was gonna slap him or snap his neck, but then he surged forward, capturing Zayn’s lips in a cruel, hard kiss that was mostly teeth. Niall was panting when they pulled apart, lips swollen and cheeks tinged red. Zayn loved how it easy it was to wreck him - how debauched and lovely he looked just from kissing. “You still like it rough?” Niall asked, breath hot and hopeful against Zayn’s ear.

Zayn grabbed Niall by the shirt-front and Niall stumbled, off-balance, before landing straddling Zayn’s lap. “Why did you bring me here?” Zayn growled, tugging Niall’s head back by his hair so he could suck a bruise into his pale neck.

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall panted, letting out a breathy moan. “It’s Harry.”

***

Louis swayed slightly in his seat as he called to the bartender for another round, fishing through the greasy paper at the bottom of his basket for another chip. He was slumped over the bar top licking the salt from his fingers when he heard someone take a seat on the barstool next to him. Whole bloody bar of empty seats at two in the afternoon and they took the one next to his.

“Sorry mate, not interested,” Louis said, without taking his eyes off the football match on the telly above the bar. At least there was still football, although it wouldn’t be long before all the players aged out. And then there would be nothing to pass the time as they all continued the slow march toward death. Toward extinction. It was no wonder he drank.

Louis was frequently hit on in pubs, and somewhat less frequently he took blokes up on their offers to go for a quickie in the loo, but he wasn’t in the mood for an anonymous fuck tonight. He was avoiding going home to Eleanor and he was avoiding his problems and while sex provided momentary distraction, more often than not, the aftermath sunk him into an even greater depression - because the guys were never Harry no matter how drunk he was or how hard he squinted. “Who said _I_ was?” a gruff, familiar voice asked.

Louis turned, his vision lagging momentarily so that Zayn first appeared to him as a streak of eyes and hair and stubbled cheek. “Oh,” Louis said softly.

“You look like shit,” Zayn frowned, arms crossed over his chest.

“Says the guy with a black eye and fat lip,” Louis snorted, pushing himself back from the bar. He wobbled slightly on his feet as he tried to stuff his arms into his jacket. His fresh beer sat on the bar untouched, a puddle of moisture already gathering on the wood beneath it. _Shame_.

“Well, it’s been nice catching up then.”

Zayn grabbed Louis’ arm, blunt fingernails digging into his long-tailed swallow tattoo. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“If you’re here to lecture me, then you can just piss off. ‘ve got a wife for that.”

“I’m not. I’m here because,” Zayn paused, gritting his teeth as if the next words were painful to say aloud. “Because I need your help.”

Louis snorted, throwing a crumpled note down for his food. “Right.”

“ _Harry_ needs your help,” Zayn said more softly and Louis had to grab the back of his chair to keep from falling over.

  
“Is he hurt?” Louis blurted out. Because God, he might be a drunk and an insensitive sod, but he wasn’t inhuman. No matter what happened or didn’t happen between he and Harry - he couldn’t imagine living in a world without him in it.

Zayn glanced around the mostly empty bar, lowering his voice to a whisper. “No. Listen, we can’t talk here. Let’s go for a drive.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Louis slurred.

“Mate,” Zayn rubbed at the scruff along his chin in a gesture so familiar it made Louis wince a bit. “Harry’s in trouble.”

***

The thing is, people needed a scapegoat. Someone to point the finger at. It was like the onset of the AIDs epidemic all over again. When people stopped being able to make babies, they blamed the homosexuals - like the conservatives weren’t already gagging to anyway. Gay sex was unnatural. Gay sex went against biblical law. Gay sex wasn’t for procreation. Blah blah blah. Louis had heard all the arguments and they were all shit.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.

In some parts of the country, openly gay people were being killed in the streets without any recourse. The ones that managed to keep their heads down weren’t much better off - required by law to wear a tracking band around their wrist with a triangle emblem on it at all times. Their bank accounts and homes were repossessed and they were sequestered to government housing in the poorer quarters of the city, their rights stripped away one by one.

Louis had studied the Holocaust in school and wondered - not about the monsters who were capable of mass extermination - but at the ones who could stand by and say nothing while it happened. But then, when it was happening all over again, he was just as much of a coward, just as complicit as they had been. And he hated himself for it.

Louis still remembered his last dinner with all the boys. Tensions were high. Louis was drinking too much and he and Harry were constantly sniping at each other. Liam was conspicuously absent, though Zayn had defiantly set a fifth spot at the table. It was the first time they’d all been together since the funeral.

It was funny - as a unit of five they had always just worked - their different personalities bringing about a harmonious balance. But with Liam gone, they were loping along like a three legged dog.

Harry had recently come out of the closet in a show of solidarity with his fellow gays and lesbians, but Louis thought it was a show of stupidity. It wasn’t just about their career or selling albums anymore; it was about their goddamn lives. Harry, ever the optimist, kept telling Louis it wouldn’t get that bad. He’d even signed his damn self up for the bracelet tracker before it became mandatory. Louis was at least able to convince him to put his bank accounts into his sister’s name so he didn’t lose everything. Not that it much mattered - after his home was repossessed, he was assigned to a real shithole flat. No heat, temperamental plumbing, likely a mold problem.

“At least I’ll be with Nick,” Harry had shrugged, trying to look hopeful. Like _that_ had made Louis feel any better.

They were part way through dinner when Louis had said, very quietly into his beer, “I’ve asked Eleanor to marry me.”

The tine’s of Zayn’s fork had screeched across his plate and Niall had reached around Harry to slap the back of Louis’ head. Harry had just daubed at his mouth and folded his napkin and put it over his plate, politely excusing himself from the table.

It was the last time Louis had seen him.

At least, until the hands of fate conspired to bring them together once more...

***

Harry called out of work on Thursday and went in on Friday, his day off, to pick up his tips and ask his boss for a short holiday. It helped his case that he lurched into the bakery looking pale and clammy, one hand clutching his stomach. He’d have liked to say it was all an act, but he felt faint and slightly feverish, stomach churning up his morning tea like a washing machine. Barbara, the elderly woman who owned the bakery gave him a quick once-over and shook her head. “Go home, Harry.”

“Need to get my tips,” he managed to say without throwing up. _Progress_.

“Sit down. You look awful. I’ll bring them right over,” she commanded, with her usual take-charge tone.

Barbara, a ruddy-cheeked, gray-haired woman in her seventies had been one of the only people to take a chance on Harry after the new laws were passed. Most people took one look at the triangle tracker Harry wore on his wrist and responded with a firm shake of the head (and those were the nice ones). Barbara had looked him up and down, shoved an apron at his chest and said, “show me what you can do.” Harry had outdone himself, baking up a batch of sinfully good lemon cheesecake tarts with cherry compote, and she’d hired him on the spot.

It was no use arguing with Barbara about the tips - once she set her mind to something, she could be as stubborn as a mule. Harry collapsed in his usual spot by the window, where he sat on breaks, watching crowds of people with umbrellas scurry past on their way to work. Two girls who looked to be in their early twenties ducked under the awning to escape the rain, passing a cigarette back and forth between them and effectively blocking Harry’s view of the street. Harry sighed and held his drooping head up in his hands. He should call Gemma. It had been a few days. All he really wanted to do though was go home and crawl back into bed for the next eight months.

It was like a bad joke - he’d wanted a baby all his life - and now that he was finally pregnant, he didn’t feel glowing or paternal or any of the things the baby books said he would - just like he’d eaten a bad curry.

“All right?” Barbara asked, setting a cup of tea and a plate of dry toast in front of Harry. The tea was in Harry’s favorite mug with the bunnies on it - he knew it must be bad if she was pampering him like this - usually she had pretty strict rules on coddling. “Drink that,” she commanded when he didn’t make any motion to pick it up. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?”

Harry shook his head, taking a tiny, experimental sip of the tea. “I’ve caught some kind of bug. Wanted to go spend a few days in the country if that’s all right? Get some fresh air.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear...”

Harry raised his eyebrows, feeling like she’d caught him snacking on a broken pastry during his shift. “What?”

She shook her head, letting out a nervous blurt of laughter. She glanced around them before lowering her voice, “You look just like I did when I was pregnant with Jeanne. Anyway. Take a week. I’ll write you a note for emigration. Just take care of yourself love.”

***

“Didn’t realize this was a reunion,” Louis grumbled as he slid into the back seat of the car idling in the alleyway outside the bar. His head was spinning and he swayed and nearly tipped over as Niall shifted gears. Probably should have sprung for a cottage pie, then. Or skipped the last few shots of Jameson. _Whichever_.

“Just be thankful he didn’t shove _you_ in the boot,” Zayn muttered bitterly.

“Still into that kinky shit then, Horan?” Louis smirked.

Niall raised a cool eyebrow at Louis in the rear-view mirror as he pulled out into oncoming traffic. “You look like shit, mate.” _Why did everyone keep saying that?_

“As much as I love the banter, I really need to get home to my wife,” Louis bluffed. There was actually nothing he wanted less. Except perhaps being in this car with his ex-band mates. The atmosphere felt like a powder-keg about to explode, silent and volatile. Niall’s eyes kept flicking up to the rear-view to watch him and Zayn was nervously drumming his fingers against the ashtray in the door. The only other sound was the patter of rain on the roof and the repetitive squeal of the windshield wipers. “So if we could make it quick...”

“We need papers,” Niall said, turning off the major roadway onto a secluded side-street. Louis rolled his window down an inch to take a breath of air and clear his head. The road smelled faintly of piss and wet rubbish. “Thought Zayn could do it, but he hasn’t got anywhere near the level of access.”

“And why would I want to get you lot papers?” Louis asked drolly. These boys had been his best mates once and something still panged in his chest when he looked at them, but it had been a year - _over_ a year. And in all that time, they hadn’t called or checked up - even knowing about his drinking and his loveless marriage - even knowing his life was slowly, inexorably going to shit. And while he hadn’t exactly called either, well -

Zayn craned his head around the headrest to face Louis. He was as devastatingly handsome as he’d been a year go, maybe even more so, and it punched through Louis’ chest like a fist through wet tissue paper. “Harry needs...” Zayn exchanged a quick, indecipherable look with Niall, “he needs surgery.”

Louis’ heart sank, but he tried to remain stoic. He had seen Harry just five months ago after all, and he’d looked fine then. In fact, he’d looked fucking _fit_. Louis still wanked to the memory of their encounter in the loo. “Is this about money then? Because I could lend him some or he could call Gemma -”

“No, it’s - he needs to see a specialist who deals with...his particular _condition_ ,” Zayn said carefully. He was obviously dancing around something, but Louis didn’t know what. “It’s the paperwork we need help with. Harry can’t travel outside of London without altering the authorities.”

Niall turned his head to face the back seat. “I’ve got an uncle back in Ireland who’s agreed to do the operation.”

“What sort of - what’s wrong with him?” Louis asked, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. He felt leaps more sober than he had a few minutes ago.

“Best that he tells you, really,” Zayn said enigmatically. “But if he doesn’t get the surgery, well...he’ll die without it.”

“Not to mention the - ” Niall started.

“Sssh,” Zayn hushed him, swatting Niall’s arm across the console.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Niall apologized, a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

Louis looked back and forth between the two of them. Whatever they were playing at, they could just leave him out. Who did they think they were - barging into Louis’ life after a year, apart, acting like he owed them something? He didn’t owe them - or _anyone_ \- shit. Except... _Harry_. He did sort of owe it to Harry.

“What you’re asking me - I’ll need someone to falsify records - I could get imprisoned or even killed if I’m caught.”

“Harry’d do it for you in a heartbeat,” Zayn grumbled, gaze drifting out the window. Louis wanted to throttle his beautiful, dumb neck.

“I’m not saying no,” Louis rushed to explain. “Just, I don’t...I don’t have the ability myself.”

“I told you he wouldn’t do it,” Niall scoffed, rolling his eyes at Zayn. Gosh, since when was Niall such a _cynic_? _Wasn’t that Louis’ job_? “All he cares about is himself,” Niall said acidly.

“I said I couldn’t do it,” Louis snapped. “But I know someone who could.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It shouldn’t even be possible, is the thing. But then, people told Harry getting on Xfactor was impossible, that having a number one album was impossible, that breaking into the US market was impossible and Harry (well, the band really) did all of those things and more. Harry’s learned that when someone says something is impossible, they just mean very, very unlikely and Harry Styles has had a very unlikely life._
> 
>  
> 
> Or, the one where Harry gets pregnant in a world where no one gets pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Dystopian AU based on Alfonso Cuarón's [Children of Men](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Men).
> 
> Title lyric is from "Poet" by Bastille.
> 
> Written for Mpreg Month.
> 
> As always, I'm [everythingwaslarry](http://www.everythingwaslarry.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Comments and kudos are the best! x

**In eyes not yet created** **  
**

_Psalm 139:16_

_“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”_

**  
****May 2014 (cont)**

Harry was exhausted by the time he arrived at Louis’ mum’s place. He’d had to stand in line at the Immigration office for hours to get his holiday time signed off on - a period which he’d spent trying desperately to not pass out. (He was just so _woozy_ all of a sudden.) A nice older woman in front of him in line had taken pity on him and fished him a granola bar out of her purse and it had been a bit better going after that.

He slept the whole train ride over and bought a ginger ale and a ham sandwich at the station, which he ate quietly in the shade of a tree, a fat bumblebee buzzing around his head. It was so quiet out here - so quiet and peaceful - that Harry found himself dozing in the weak sunshine after he’d finished his sandwich in the wet grass. It was a mile trek from the station and he set off in the early afternoon, when the sun was at it’s highest. He knew he could easily call Jay to come get him, but the sun felt nice on his face and the fresh air was glorious after breathing in the polluted smog in London.

Jay was in the greenhouse was Harry arrived, wearing a floppy straw hat, a rolled-up pair of dungarees, green clogs and gardening gloves. She looked so much like Louis and felt so much like coming home that Harry faltered a moment, hovering in the entrance with a hand over his belly, suddenly short of breath.

Jay had started growing pot plants on the side as an additional source of income several years ago. “My mum, the drug dealer,” Louis was fond of saying. Harry suspected it had less to do with money for Jay and more to do with helping people. After losing her job as a midwife, (if there were no babies to deliver, there were no midwives) Jay started working at a elder hospice. Most of the patients were beyond the help of traditional medicine and the weed helped ease the pain of their final days.

Jay’s blue eyes - the same shape and shade as Louis’ - lit up when she glanced up from where she was repotting a plant. “Harry love! You’re here!” she rushed over, pulling him into a crushing hug.

When she pulled back, there were tears on his face and he swiped at them, embarrassed. “Sorry. ‘m always crying. Just been so emotional lately.”

Jay chuckled. “I remember it well. Now, let me get a good look at you,” she commanded, resting her hands on both sides of his stomach through his jumper. Soon, her eyes were filled with tears too. “You look just like your mum. I wish she could be here,” she sniffled.

Harry bit his lip and nodded, unable to speak around the growing lump in his throat. Jay _smelled_ like him. Like _Louis_ and home and everything he lost. “Did you walk all the way from the station?”

“It was no bother,” Harry shrugged, rubbing his belly. “Could use the walk.”

“Well, let’s get you out of the sun before you fry to a crisp,” she scolded, grasping his elbow to guide him into the house.

Jay washed up and made tea and they sat on the couch together, catching up. Harry talked a bit about work and Gemma and the rash of thunderstorms they’d been having recently and Jay talked about gardening and Maura and it all felt oddly normal. Not normal enough for Harry to forget the reason he could now rest a plate of biscuits on his budding belly, but close enough.

“So tell me about your symptoms,” Jay said after she’d cleaned up their plates.

“Back hurts, feel nauseous in the morning a lot, er, my nipples have been a bit, er -”

“Tender?” Harry blushed, nodding.

“Well, that’s to be expected. Do you mind if I examine you?” Harry shook his head. “Good lad,” she smiled, patting his thigh. “Go on and take your shirt off.”

Harry tugged his shirt over his head and wriggled back into the couch cushions. Getting comfortable was more and more difficult these days - he could no longer sleep on his stomach or back as he once had - and usually had to employ all of his pillows to find a comfortable position on his side. Even then, he woke up sweating and in desperate need of a wee every night, and once he returned from the loo, it took him another twenty minutes to get comfortable again. It was a nightmare.

Jay opened her medical bag and pulled out a few items and lined them up on the coffee table. “Oh, you do look sore,” she tutted sympathetically, glancing at his puffy nipples. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a special salve for that. It’s a life-saver. Especially if you plan on breastfeeding.”

Harry nodded, swallowing. The truth was, he hadn’t really _planned_ on anything. Certainly not getting pregnant. It still seemed a bit unreal - the pregnancy, the fact that there would be a tiny person coming out of him in five or six months. The fact that it was Louis’.

Seeing the lost look on his face, Jay gently rubbed his arm. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s best to be prepared. I’ve got some old baby books I’ll give you and we’ll get you started on a vitamin regimen right away. Feel free to ask any questions, no matter how embarrassing or weird they might seem. I know it’s a lot to take in, sweetie, but it’s best to have all the information you can.”

Harry nodded. “Now, it’ll be a bit difficult to pinpoint the exact point of conception since you don’t have a normal cycle like a woman’s. Pregnancy lasts roughly 280 days, or 40 weeks from the first day of the last period. But we should be able to get a rough estimate of conception based on when you had intercourse around that time.”

“Uh, about five months ago? December 20th,” Harry said shyly, chewing at his bottom lip. Just a few days short of Louis’ 21st birthday. Harry hadn’t told Jay it was Louis’ and she hadn’t asked, but the unasked question hung in the air between them.

“Seems about right. From the size of your belly and the date of intercoure, I’d put you at roughly four months along. Unfortunately, I don’t have any pregnancy tests I can administer. The store-bought ones expire after roughly two to three years and seeing as how it’s been eighteen years since they sold them...well...I do have a foetal doppler though, which should help me detect the baby’s heartbeat.”

Harry nodded slowly shakily, feeling on the verge of tears. Maybe it was the conjunction of the words _baby_ and _heartbeat_. Maybe it was how real it was all beginning to feel. Maybe it was that when he’d fantasized about having kids, he’d always pictured Louis there with him. Jay gave him an encouraging smile and gently rubbed his arm. “You’re doing great, poppet. Do you mind unbuttoning your jeans for me?”

Harry popped the button on his jeans and unzipped them, slipping them down a few inches as Jay instructed. Jay squirted a palmful of petroleum jelly onto his lower stomach. Harry yelped. “Sorry. S’ cold.”

Jay apologized, moving the wand from the foetal doppler over his belly. Harry tapped his fingers along the top wing-tips of his butterfly. His tattoo was grossly bloated and he wondered if it would ever return to it’s normal size once the baby was born or if it would always looked stretched out and misshapen. Not that it mattered - no one looked at his naked body anymore anyway - unless you counted Nick, which Harry didn’t.

Jay worked quietly and methodically - taking long enough that Harry started to get nervous that she wouldn’t find anything. Maybe he really was just getting fat - or maybe he had a tumor or something or -

“It can difficult sometimes to tell the difference between intestinal gurgles and the baby’s heartbeat if you’re not trained,” Jay explained, finally pausing, with the wand above the line of Harry’s pubic hair. “Ah, there it is.”

They sat in silence listening to the muffled thunk-thunk-thunk inside him. Harry’s eyes welled up with tears. He brushed them away with the back of his hands, but they kept coming, running down his throat and pooling in his collarbones.

“That’s - that’s my baby?” Harry asked, chin wobbling.

Jay nodded. “Alive and soon to be kicking. You should feel movement around 16-22 weeks. You’re at 16 now, so it’s only matter of time.”

“So, it’s definitely not like a stomach tumor?”

Jay laughed as she mopped the jelly off of him with a wet flannel. “Definitely not a stomach tumor, though I can hardly believe it myself. You can put your shirt back on and zip up.” Jay turned away to give him some semblance of privacy and started to pack her instruments back into her bag. “I know it’s not - it’s none of mine, but is it-” her voice cracked, braced for the worst.

“It’s Louis’,” Harry confirmed softly.

She turned back to him, her eyes glistening. “I’m going to be a grandmum?”

Harry nodded, squeezing her hand. He tried to give her a wonky smile, but more tears spilled down his face instead. It felt wrong without Louis. _Everything_ felt wrong without Louis, but especially this. “Have you told him?”

Harry shook his head, stroking his bump through his jumper. A _baby_. A baby was in there. _Louis’_ baby was in there. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “It’s a miracle, Harry,” Jay said softly, laying her hands over his where they rested on his stomach. Harry would have liked to think that too, but he couldn’t help thinking that without Louis there, it felt less like a miracle and more like a curse.

***

It was half-past eleven when Louis arrived home, tired and footsore and a bit drunk to boot. He’d procured the exit papers he needed easily enough from Simon once he’d plied him with a good bottle of wine and dubiously imported cigars. There was only one teeny, tiny snag - Louis had only been able to get a _joint_ visa - meaning he would have to accompany Harry on the trip. If the surgery was really as life-saving as Zayn suggested, Harry would just have to deal. Louis planned on spending their time together getting so pissed he couldn’t see straight.

The glass-walled greenhouse was shining like a beacon in the dark night when Louis crept across the garden of his childhood home, feeling vaguely like an interloper. He found the spare key his mum kept under the flower-pot on the stoop and let himself in, pausing to glance at the framed photos hanging in the foyer. They were mostly pictures of him at various ages and some of Jay and Maura together, but at the very end was one of him and Harry, with their arms around each other. Harry was sixteen - all dimples and hair and a mouthful of white, smiling teeth - and Louis couldn’t remember what it felt like to be that happy.

Jay and Maura were watching television when he bumped into the living room, shouldering his travel case. Cuddled together on the couch, his mum and her partner looked completely at ease with one another, not like he and Eleanor, who could barely stand to be in the same room anymore. The only part of the day Louis looked forward to was when he finally, inevitably, passed out on the couch at the end of night from drinking or exhaustion.

“Louis?” Maura gave him a wave and Jay jumped up to give him a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming home, love! You should have called,” she scolded him, managing to look happy and disapproving at the same time in the way only mum’s could.

“Sorry. It was a last minute thing. Is...is _he_ here?”

Jay frowned. “So you know? He’s asleep up in your room. Poor thing was completely knackered from the trip. Barely made it through dinner. I can make up the couch for you.”

“Mind if I shower first? It’s been a long day.” The air outside was heavy with humidity, the low fog speaking of coming rain, and Louis’ shirt was stuck to his back from the short walk from the station. He could smell the alcohol-tinged sweat seeping from his pores and it made him feel gross.

“Of course. Clean towels are in the airing cupboard.”

Louis trudged upstairs and ducked into the loo, closing the door behind him. He gripped the sink in both hands and leaned close to the mirror, examining his face. He looked pale and exhausted in the harsh fluorescent light and he hadn’t had a drink since the train, which seemed ages ago now. No one but Eleanor knew how bad his drinking really was. He was a highly-functioning alcoholic - if his bosses smelled it on him they didn’t say anything because he was at least an efficient worker. The tedious routine of shuffling paperwork all day numbed him out and kept him from thinking too much, so he immersed himself as much as he could.

Louis stood under the shower spray for a long time, letting the scalding water turn his shoulders pink. As much as he tried not to, he kept thinking of Harry, lying several feet away, so close Louis swore he could feel his presence through the wall like infrared heat.

When Louis got out, the bathroom was choked with steam, the tile cool under his bare feet. He put on a clean pair of pants from his bag - it was too hot to sleep in anything else - and stopped on the landing outside his childhood bedroom. _Harry_ was in there. Louis rested his palms and forehead against the closed door, trying to convince himself to go downstairs and raid the liquor cabinet and just leave it be until morning.

 _Fuck it_ . _Louis was never very good at leaving things be._

Louis opened the door slowly and slipped inside, standing at the foot of the bed like a ghost. As his eyes adjusted to the dim room, he could just make out Harry’s broad back and shoulders peaking out from the top of the faded quilt, his curls spilling over the pillow in dark waves. He was facing the wall, curled in on himself and only taking up half of the bed, like he’d never quite gotten used to sleeping alone.

For a moment, Louis contemplated crawling in with him - there was certainly room to - but he knew that wasn’t fair to Harry. He’d made his choice. Even if he’d regretted it ever since. A fast fuck in a loo stall five months ago wasn’t the same as intimacy, wasn’t the same as lining up the showered skin of his chest against the sleep-warm, bare skin of Harry’s back.

With a sigh, Louis fetched some blankets from the airing cupboard and arranged them on the floor beside the bed. He was too tired to go back downstairs and it was easier to fall asleep to the even cadence of Harry’s breath.

Louis fell asleep curled up on the floor like a dog. _No, that was wrong. Dogs were loyal_. _Like a cat._

***

“Do” _thump_ “you” _thump_ “think” _thump_ “they’ve killed each other yet?” Niall panted between thrusts, the headboard beating a short staccato against the wall.

“Fuck, stop talking about them. I’m going to lose my boner,” Zayn grumbled from under the blonde Irishman.

Niall laughed, reaching around to give Zayn’s erection a squeeze. “Unlikely, babe.”

Zayn gave Niall’s side a pinch, marveling in how the skin bloomed pink in the wake of his fingers. That was the thing about Niall - he was so milk pale, his skin was like a blank canvas - every bruise, every scratch was like a violent brush stroke over his lily-white flesh. Zayn remembered the first time they’d discovered it, the shameful boner he’d gotten when Liam had jokingly sucked a welt into the join of Niall’s shoulder.

The five of them had gotten on from the very start, but there was times it seemed like the band was _louisandharry_ and then, the rest of them. Zayn had never really thought of himself as gay, but he couldn’t deny that what he felt when he looked at Louis and Harry was jealousy. For his part, Niall seemed pretty chill about it - Zayn had even caught him on the couch a time or two with Harry and Louis’ making out half on his lap - impassively flipping through the telly over their heads. Liam just got flustered, scampering out of the room mortified, as if he’d just caught his parents having sex.

The three of them had all felt like the third wheel at one time or another, despite Louis’ and Harry’s best attempts to make them feel included. But it wasn’t the same. Which is why it seemed sort of natural when things progressed between the three of them. They’d never really put a name to it or talked about it much. It was just a thing that happened between the three of them. They all had girlfriends at a time or another and it was never a big deal to stop for a while and start up again. The only rule was that it had to be the three of them together - no one got left behind. In the two years they’d fooled around together, it had never been just Zayn and Niall or Zayn and Liam or Niall and Liam. Which was why it felt so wrong to keep going after Liam died.

Even now, with Niall expertly pounding him into the mattress, Zayn’s body couldn’t stop yearning for Liam too. For the shape of him. They were so different - Niall, pale and blonde and wiry and Liam, broad and muscled and soft.

“Harder,” Zayn cried, wanting to sink into subspace, wanting to not think for just a minute about how much he missed him. Missed _them_. Niall obligingly sped up his pace, pistoning in and out at breakneck speed, squeezing Zayn’s sides hard enough to hurt. _Good. Zayn wanted it to hurt._

“Fuck, Zayn, baby - ” Niall panted, running his finger through the slick well of precum gathering on Zayn’s lower belly. “Wish I could knock you up like Harry. Wish I could see you all glowing and full of my baby.”

Zayn’s body jolted with a shock at Niall’s words, spilling prematurely onto the bed sheets. Niall followed moments later, collapsing on top of him in a sweaty heap.

A moment later, Zayn’s thin shoulders were quaking with sobs, whispering his safe word over and over again under his breath: “tangerine, tangerine, tangerine...”

_Too much. Too much. Too much._

Niall stroked Zayn’s sweaty hair back from his face as he shook apart. “‘M sorry love. Was just in the moment,” he apologized, pressing kisses into Zayn’s hairline, along his cheekbones and into his damp eyelashes. “I didn’t mean-”

“I just miss him so much,” Zayn choked. “I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t want that without him- It wouldn’t be right - _nothing’s_ right without him-”

Niall stroked the tattoos on Zayn’s bicep. “I miss him too babe, but he’s gone. And I’m still right here.”

“How can you just go on like nothing’s happened?” Zayn blurted accusingly.

“Like nothing’s _happened_? I loved him too, you know,” Niall snapped. “And I love you so bloody much and you just - you just walked away from me. Like it didn’t matter. Like _I_ didn’t matter.”

“Niall, that’s not-” Zayn turned, burying his face in Niall’s collarbone. He snuffled wetly into Niall’s skin like a dog. “I couldn’t - I couldn’t wrap my arms around you without feeling the ghost of him between us. It kept reminding me of what was missing and I - shit - I didn’t - I couldn’t -” he stammered.

“Zayn, it’s okay-” Niall sighed, rubbing his back. “I don’t blame you, okay? It was a fucked up time for all of us. We did what we had to survive and that’s that.”

Zayn contemplated Niall’s words quietly. “After - after Harry has the baby, do you think it’ll go back to how it was?”

“I don’t see how it could,” Niall whispered, kissing the top of Zayn’s head. “Because I’m not enough of an idiot to let you walk away a second time.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It shouldn’t even be possible, is the thing. But then, people told Harry getting on Xfactor was impossible, that having a number one album was impossible, that breaking into the US market was impossible and Harry (well, the band really) did all of those things and more. Harry’s learned that when someone says something is impossible, they just mean very, very unlikely and Harry Styles has had a very unlikely life._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Or, the one where Harry gets pregnant in a world where no one gets pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Dystopian AU based on Alfonso Cuarón's [Children of Men](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Men).
> 
> Title lyric is from "Poet" by Bastille.
> 
> Written for Mpreg Month.
> 
> As always, I'm [everythingwaslarry](http://www.everythingwaslarry.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Comments and kudos are the best! x

**In eyes not yet created**

_Psalm 139:16_

_“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”_

**May 2014**

When Louis woke up the next morning, his body ached from sleeping on the hard floor and there was a cold, wet breeze coming in through the cracked window, rattling the blinds. Someone had put another blanket over him and tucked a pillow under his head sometime in the night - no doubt Harry - but Louis’ joints were still stiff and inflexible with cold.

Harry was already gone, the bed neatly made in his place. That had always been a thing of his - making the bed every morning - it made him completely exasperated when Louis left the blankets in a messy heap after getting up.

“What’s the point of making it if I’m just going to get back in it later?” Louis had grumbled.

“It just...it looks nice.” Louis wishes he had bothered to make it more now. Yes, the whole concept of making your bed every day was silly in and of itself, but it made Harry happy. Louis should have done more things to make him happy. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

Louis took his time in the bathroom - giving himself a thorough shave and spending extra time styling his hair. He told himself he wasn’t doing it for Harry, but that was shit; it had been ages since he’d put in any effort. Not that it helped matters much - he still had the pouchy, sallow appearance of a habitual drunk. He needed to drink more water, maybe take some vitamins and get a vegetable in every now and then. He needed to get some sunlight. He needed to get properly fucked. Well, there was no undoing a year and a half’s worth of damage now...

He needn’t have bothered anyhow. Harry looked worse than he did. When Louis came downstairs, he was sitting at the center island with his head buried in his crossed arms, like a deflated balloon animal. Maura was rubbing his back absently as she paged through the newspaper, but he was very still under her hand. Harry hardly ever sat still - or at least he hadn’t when they were dating. Even when they were on a much-needed break from touring and promotion, Harry always kept himself busy doing the washing up or working out or jotting lyrics in his tattered leather journal. The only times he stopped moving and actually relaxed were when he was sick or asleep.

“What’s wrong with him?” Louis asked, realizing a moment after it came out of his mouth how harsh it had sounded. _He really needed to work on his head-to-mouth filter_.

Harry lifted his head to more effectively glare at Louis and let it drop back onto the table with a wooden-sounding thunk. “He’s feeling poorly,” Louis’ mum said. “Would you like a cuppa? I’m just fixing one for Harry.”

“Make it coffee,” Louis said, collapsing into the stool next to Harry’s. _Christ. When the boys had said Harry was ill, Louis hadn’t been expecting this. Other than some sniffles here and there, Harry had hardly been sick a day in his life. He actually took care of himself unlike Louis - with the constant jogging and yoga and disgusting kale-mango smoothies._

“Will you have something to eat?” Louis’ mum asked, setting a plate of dry toast and a cup of tea next to Harry’s elbow.

Harry groaned, making no motion to eat. Maura ruffled his hair, “try and eat something love. You need to keep your strength up.”

“‘M not hungry,” Louis said, still staring at Harry. What was _wrong_ with him? Harry had never been one for theatrics, so if he was acting like this, something must be really, _really_ wrong.

“You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” Jay tutted, as Louis discreetly unscrewed the cap of his flask to slip a finger or two of brandy into his coffee. “I’ll make you an egg on toast.” _So much for his drinking flying under the radar._ Christ, he hated being at home. He loved his mum, but he never felt more exposed and transparent as he did around here. In his day-to-day life, he was able to hide it well enough, even from himself, but one second home and he was made of cellophane.

“I’m on holiday,” Louis said, mock-offended. Jay just shook her head and laughed, but there was a undercurrent of sadness beneath it.

“‘M gonna take my breakfast in the greenhouse if that’s okay,” Harry mumbled, finally lifting his head from the table.

Jay squeezed his shoulder. “‘Course. Bring a blanket, love. It’s chilly out there.”

***

Harry brought _two_ blankets, spreading one over the chilly ground and leaving the other over draped around his shoulders. Rain pelted down against the roof, the glass panes fogged over with condensation. Harry took a sip of tea and let his eyelids flutter shut, breathing in the green scent of the flowers and plants. He’d always felt so happy here. In better days, he remembered visiting with Louis on their breaks from tour, remembered kissing him under the climbing roses, remembered summer picnics that ended with Louis taking him on the blanket, rutting slow and lazy as the sunlight beat down on their backs.

It seemed like another life now...

But he couldn’t dwell on it. He had to move forward for the baby’s sake. “Just you and me little bean, yeah?” Harry whispered, rubbing his stomach. Sometimes, it felt like him and the baby against the whole world. It was hard to believe in another five months he’d be able to hold her - or him - in his arms. He didn’t really care whether it was a boy or a girl, so as long as they were healthy, so long as they were _his_. _And Louis_ ’, a traitorous voice in his mind reminded him.

“You just going to avoid me, then?” Harry startled, dropping his hand from his stomach and drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders. _Had Louis seen him talking to his belly?_

“Why are you even here?” Harry asked in a small voice, curling his hands around his mug of tea for warmth. It was almost unbearable being so close to Louis, after so much time apart. Whenever he saw Louis’ face, he was always inexplicably torn between wanting to fuck him and wanting to punch him. Today, he was leaning toward fuck. But only because his hormones had him feeling crazy horny. When he wasn’t throwing up, that was.

Louis stood a few feet away, with his hands clasped behind his back, as if he wasn’t sure Harry wanted him closer. “Zayn and Niall got a hold of me - said you needed papers.”

Harry tugged on his bottom lip, an unconscious habit back from when he was young. Lately, it had been replaced by rubbing his belly, but he couldn’t exactly do _that_ in front of Louis, now could he? “Did they say what for?”

Louis shrugged. “No, they were being all mysterious about it. Said you needed an operation.” Louis kicked a pebble, sending it skittering over the paving stones. “Mind if I sit?”

Harry shrugged and Louis took it as an invitation - flopping down onto the blanket - though he at least kept a respectful distance between them. Louis picked at a loose string on his trousers, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “So what _is_ wrong with you?”

Harry nearly choked on his tea, sputtering as he set it down on a level paving stone. “Er, do you remember back in December when we...?”

Louis heaved a defeated sigh, raking a hand back through his hair. It was getting long. “Harry, do we really have to do this now?”

Harry’s chin trembled. “Yeah. We do.” Harry stood, letting the blanket fall away from his shoulders. He was wearing his baggiest jumper - a big lilac number with sleeves that came down over his hands - but even that didn’t entirely disguise his... _situation_.

Biting his lip, he steeled himself. _Right. Like tearing off a plaster or jumping in a cold lake, it was best to do to it all in one go._ Harry tugged the hem of his jumper up and pulled it over his head. It took a second for Louis to even lift his gaze and look and when he finally did, it was as if Harry had slapped him across the face.

Harry had never felt as naked or as vulnerable as he did in those few seconds, with Louis gaping at him. Harry nearly laughed aloud. It was the first time in Louis’ life that he didn’t have a quick retort at the ready, something to diffuse the tension of the situation.

“What -” he finally managed, letting the word hang there, with no foreseeable end to the sentence.

Harry cupped his belly, tears burning at his eyes. He didn’t know what he had expected - excitement or reassurance or anger - but it hadn’t been this. This _silence_. Maybe it really _was_ over between them. Maybe Louis was such a good actor, he’d convinced himself out of being in love with Harry. “I’m pregnant,” Harry said in a trembling voice.

“But you’re a _boy_!” Louis blurted. “And _no one_ gets pregnant anymore!”

Harry shrugged, fighting the urge to cover himself. _Let Louis see. Let him fucking see_. _If Harry had to deal with morning sickness and an achy back and swollen tits, Louis could deal with this_. “Well, _I_ am. That’s why I came to your mum’s.”

Louis crawled forward on his knees, hands hovering over - but not quite touching - Harry’s belly. He gazed up at Harry with his big blue eyes and Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of all the other times Louis had been between his legs. The trust and intimacy of their first fumbling blow-jobs back when they were kids - nothing at all like the filthy porn Harry had caught glimpses of previously on the family computer.

“Can I-” Louis’ hands shook along with his voice. Harry nodded, unable to speak or breathe for fear of breaking the tenuous moment. It was like no one else existed in the world but the two of them and the life they’d created between them. Nothing but the two - _three_ \- of them in that rain-speckled greenhouse, so far away from the half-life Harry had created for himself in London. Harry was generally an optimist - he’d even managed to convince himself that his modest job at the bakery and his tiny flat with Nick were enough - but that all came apart with the way Louis was gazing at his belly. Like it contained the entire world. And maybe it did.

Louis cupped Harry’s stomach tentatively at first - as if seeking permission - causing goosebumps to prickle over Harry’s arms. But then he rested his forehead against Harry’s belly-button, not moving. “And it’s - it’s _mine_?” he croaked into Harry’s skin.

“Who _else’s_ would it be?”

Louis raised his head to look at Harry. He had to lean back a little to see him over the roundness of his belly. “You and Nick never...?”

“No, just you. It was only ever you,” Harry said softly, indulging himself for a moment by letting his hand rest on the top of Louis’ head.

“Good,” Louis whispered and then he pressed his lips to Harry’s belly, the warmth of his mouth like a brand, claiming him, claiming _them_. “You’re mine.” He said it so softly Harry wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it or even if Louis was talking to him or the baby. But he never got to ask because suddenly Louis’ thin shoulders were shaking with sobs, cupping Harry’s swollen belly like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

And maybe it was.

***

“You know, ever since you came back into my life, I seem to be getting tied up a lot more often,” Zayn smirked, face turned sideways where it was resting on the cold, dirty metal of the van bed. They’d been taken unawares - bleary and half-naked - in the middle of the night by a couple of rough, heavily tattooed men with red bandanas tied around their faces. Niall seemed to know them, but Zayn had never seen them before.

“Thought you were into that,” Niall winked, but his face so swollen it came off as more of a grimace.

Zayn wanted to reach out and touch him, but his hands were firmly zip-tied behind his back. Instead, he wriggled closer on his side, so their faces were close enough to kiss. He rested his forehead against Niall’s with a sigh. “I knew you were trouble when you walked in-” he sang.

“Oh Christ, I’ll take the torture - _please_ \- anything but Taylor Swift,” Niall groaned, but he smiled his first real smile of the day.

Zayn laughed, but it quickly faded. “I’m _scared_ , Niall,” he admitted in a tiny voice.

“I’m sorry I got you involved in all this,” Niall said softly, blood gleaming in the cracks of his teeth from where it had run down from his battered nose. _The two of them must look a pretty picture_.

“I’m not. As long as we’re together,” Zayn said, nosing at Niall’s shoulder as best as he could. When they kissed, Niall tasted like blood and gunmetal and broken promises. They were forced apart when the van ran over a bump in the road, jostling their bodies to opposite sides of the van. Zayn shuffled back towards Niall, feeling every bump and bruise on his body and the painful stretch of his arms behind his back.

“Do you know what they want?” he asked, keeping his voice low so the two thugs up front in the cab wouldn’t overhear him.  
  
“They want Harry to have the baby in London.”

“But - the papers -”

“The Fishes want to use him as a bargaining chip. I mean, I can appreciate the irony as much as anyone - everyone blamed the gays for the decline in fertility and suddenly a pregnant bloke shows up - kinda damages their case.”

“Harry’s not a case and he’s not a bargaining chip-” Zayn protested.

“Don’t you think I know that? When I first told them about Harry, they said they could help. I should’ve known they only wanted to serve their own interests.”

“And their interests aren’t... _your_ interests?” Zayn asked, lifting an eyebrow. Niall was a Fish after all. No matter how much Zayn wanted to trust him. His body and mouth might be saying one thing, but the tattoos across his knuckles, the red bandana he ritualistically tied around his bicep every morning spoke of something else. Something Zayn couldn’t touch or kiss or get to.

Niall’s jawline hardened, his eyes twin flints of steely determination. “My interest is to keep Harry and the baby safe at all costs. Which means getting him out of London the first chance we get.”

***

Harry spent most of the afternoon resting, but Louis couldn’t sit still. He felt like something was alive and thrumming just beneath the surface of his skin - the wings of a million hummingbirds beating inside him. It had been ages since he’d felt anything other than pervasive numbness and it was uncomfortable to say the least. He wasn’t used to feeling things. He wasn’t used to owning up to his mistakes. But there was no running from himself this time - nowhere to run to.

His mum - seeming to sense his antsiness - put him to work running errands - picking up the dry-cleaning and groceries in town, helping her in the greenhouse. Around dinnertime, Louis went upstairs to check on Harry and see if he wanted something to eat - only to find him awake. Louis halted to a stop in the doorway, breath caught halfway up his throat.

Harry had always been beautiful - it had just been another thing about him - like his clumsiness or penchant for bad puns or love for cooking. But with the exception of his confession in the greenhouse that morning, Louis had never seen him look more beautiful than he did in that moment.

He was lying on top of the covers in just a pair of pants, damp curls pulled back by a floral headscarf, and he was positively glowing. Freshly showered, his pale skin was radiant and dewy, a pink flush in the apples of his cheeks like a painting of a renaissance madonna. His head was thrown back against the headboard, exposing the long, tantalizing line of his throat and he had his lower lip clenched in his teeth as he massaged a dollop of cream into each nipple.

A quiet moan escaped Harry’s swollen mouth, traveling straight to Louis’ cock. He fought the urge to grip it through his trackies, holding onto the doorframe for support instead. Louis’ entire body throbbed for a drink - for the warm, reassuring numbness that had served him so well in the past - relegating Harry to gin-soaked memory. Turned out, “Out of sight, out of mind” only worked when you couldn’t actually _see_ the person.

And Harry was there - so _there_ \- and sexy and begging to be touched. Louis’ had always loved Harry’s nipples - they were so pink and perky, always at attention - but they looked different now - all red and swollen and engorged. Even his pecs seemed to have filled out a bit - more like little breasts than pecs, really - which shouldn’t be hot, but it was. It really, _really_ was. And fuck, the way he was _rubbing_ them. And judging by the tent in his pants, it was affecting Harry just as much, if not more, than it was affecting Louis.

Louis cleared his throat as discreetly as possible and Harry’s eyes snapped open, his hands dropping to his sides. “Oh, uh, I was just-” he blushed.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain or whatever. Mum wanted to know if you were hungry.”

“Yeah. I’ll come down in a few. Your mum um - gave me this stuff - ” Harry held up the tin of salve he’d been using. “Said it’s supposed to help with the tenderness.”

Louis took a few cautious steps toward the bed. “Does it hurt much?”

Harry shrugged. “Just sore is s’all.”

“Right. I’ll just uh, go and let you-” Louis did a complicated gesture meant to indicate leave Harry alone to touch his nipples in the most overtly sexual display he’d ever witnessed.

“You could stay-” Harry rushed. “I mean - if you _wanted_. You could help?” Harry held out a fat tub of lotion. “Cocoa butter’s ‘sposed to help with stretch marks.”

“And where’s that meant to go?” Louis smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry stuck his tongue out. “On my belly, you twat. But you don’t have to- if it’s weird-” Harry said, shifting self-consciously on the bed.

“No, it’s fine.” Louis sat down on the edge of the mattress and unscrewed the lid of the container, scooping out a palmful of lotion and blowing on it to warm it. Harry watched quietly as Louis rubbed the lotion into his stomach, methodically covering the surface area inch by inch.

“It feels so weird,” Louis marveled. “It’s like hard and soft as the same time.”

“That’s what she said,” Harry quipped.

Louis rolled his eyes. He was just getting around to Harry’s right side, when he felt a sudden jarring movement under his hand. He immediately drew his hands back, staring at the patch of skin as if it had offended him. “Did you do that?”

Harry shook his head, beaming with a smile from ear to ear. “She’s kicking. Your mum said this would happen. She must like you.” Harry put his hand over the spot Louis’s hands had just vacated, feeling for himself. “It’s really real, isn’t it?” he marveled to himself. “You’re really in there, little bean?”

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Louis asked curiously.

“Just a hunch,” Harry shrugged. “You want to feel some more? She’s really going to town.”

Louis nodded, putting his hand back. “Feels like a little footballer to me,” Louis said. “Definitely a boy.”

“Hey! Girls can be footballers too,” Harry protested.

“Not if they have your two left feet,” Louis smirked. “Just better hope he’s got my athletic genes.”

“ _She_. And yeah,” Harry breathed softly.

“And your curls and dimples,” Louis added under his breath, not looking at Harry.

“Lou?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you...have you thought about what you’ll say to Eleanor?”

“Do I have to say anything?” Louis frowned. The baby delivered a sharp kick in response and Harry let out an “oomph”, sparing Louis a rejoinder.

Louis eyes’ flicked up to Harry, concerned. “Does it hurt?”

“Mostly just feels weird.”

Louis nodded. “Thanks for letting me feel.”

“No problem.” Louis let his hands drop, accidentally brushing Harry’s erection on their way down. Harry let out a tiny, involuntary moan, his whole face flushing.

“Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Not like you haven’t - _before_...” Harry trailed off, giving Louis a weak smile as he pulled a blanket over his lap. “My hormones are just really out of whack. It’s like whenever I’m not crying or throwing up, I have a boner.”

Louis snorted. “Sounds like a blast.”

“Totally.”

“If it makes you feel better, you look like - ” Louis’ eyes roved hungrily over Harry’s body - his swollen breasts and round tummy - landing on the erection tenting out the blanket he'd put over his lap.

“What, a fat cow?” Harry whinged.

“No. I was gonna say like totally sexy.”

Harry groaned, pulling a pillow over his face. “Go away.”

Louis rubbed his arm gently. “Come have some dinner. You need to eat something.”

Harry dropped the pillow. “I’ll be down in uh-” he lifted the blanket to get a good look at his erection. “Ten minutes?”

Louis laughed, handing Harry the tub of cocoa butter. “Have at it, papa.”


End file.
